凉粉: cold noodles best served on
hot summer days. I watch 妈妈 dip
her hands into silver bowl, scoop
starch, chase a village long-gone;

and I want to hug her but her hands
are tied, her apron is tied, her feet
are tired – of standing on lands not
made for legs bent under weight

of loss of blood spilling young boys
and girls unhungry for sweet soup
singing on 爸爸’s tongue and 爷爷’s
tongue and the tongues of men we

do not know, growing into saucy
boys and girls seeking selves with
no roots, now off devouring off-white
in unfamiliar cities. When, she asks,

will you scoop the earth? reverent
fingers cupped for eternity waiting
for rain to fall warm on roof, plate,
and bursting heart of spice –

绿豆: magic beans cloaked in
green English shade rerouting
us to hometown in the sky –

“ready to numb my mouth for yours”
but she hurts all over;
you took too long.

—-

Minying Huang is an undergraduate student from Cambridge, England, reading for a BA in Spanish and Arabic at Oxford University. Her poetry has been published and/or is forthcoming in PANK Magazine and Okey-Panky by Electric Literature. Twitter Facebook Instagram